


Good Morning Øresund

by Minutia_R



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Gen, Radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:18:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: Manning the comm channels on Øresund Base is a thankless task, but at least it's uneventful.  Usually.





	Good Morning Øresund

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a Synchronized Screaming prompt: Mikkel - late night call-in radio show
> 
> It's set at some point prior to the Danish reclamation effort, but I've deliberately left the timing vague--it could be another year, it could be a matter of weeks.
> 
> Laufey helped me out with the Finnish. <3
> 
> I apologize in advance to anyone who actually knows how communication by radio works. Or how anything works.

A light flashing on the radio jerked Mikkel out of a light doze. Mindful of Admiral Olsen’s lectures, delivered with his usual volume and force, about the distinction between “monitoring the comm channels” and “naptime” (mindful as in, don’t get caught again), he flicked a couple of switches and said, “Øresund Base, Specialist Mikkel Madsen speaking.”

“Lærke Jensen reporting in for the Copenhagen Advance Scouting Unit,” came the voice on the other end of the radio. It was hard to tell with the fuzzy connection, but she sounded a little strained. “Confirm the tunnel is clear. Troll activity in the area within expected parameters. We’re going to make camp at the tunnel mouth tonight and start exploring the area tomorrow.”

“Copy,” said Mikkel, jotting it down in the log book.

“And … Madsen? You’ve been serving for a while now, right?”

“I suppose,” said Mikkel unencouragingly. The sooner this call ended, the sooner he could get back to not-napping.

“Is it true, you know, what they say about … that there are things in the Silent World?”

“It is generally accepted that the Silent World is inhabited by trolls, yes. Beasts and giants have also reportedly been observed.”

“Not those. The …” Jensen’s voice dropped to a crackly whisper. “The ones that don’t care about knives or bullets. The ones that creep in under the barbed wire and past the perimeter and always find you no matter where you hide. The ones that touch you with freezing fingers and steal your breath and know all your secrets--”

“Ah,” said Mikkel. “I believe you’re describing nightmares.”

Jensen laughed nervously. “Nightmares?”

“People who spend the night in the Silent World often report disturbing, vivid dreams--even people who never experience such things as a matter of course. It’s a curious phenomenon, but not one which poses any physical threat. I wouldn’t worry about it. Although if you continue to experience difficulties after your return, there would certainly be no harm in consulting the base psychologist.”

“Yeah. I--I guess,” said Jensen. “You’re pretty good at putting things into perspective, you know that, Madsen? Jensen out.”

Mikkel scowled at the silent radio. He wasn’t sure he wanted a reputation for being “pretty good” at anything. “Adequate” had served him perfectly well until now.

He put his feet up on the desk, tilted his chair back--and the light flashed again.

“Øresund Base,” he said, letting a note of annoyance creep into his voice. Two calls in one evening was really a bit much. “Specialist Mikkel Madsen speaking.”

“Hva?” said the voice on the other end.

“Øresund Base? Denmark? The Known World, planet Earth, the solar system--”

“Denmark?” The voice was gravelly, probably male, oddly twangy. Not Swedish, not Icelandic--Norwegian? “Ah, devils, she gave me the wrong frequency by mistake.”

“In my experience,” said Mikkel, tilting his chair back a little further, “that sort of mistake is rarely a mistake. My sister generally gives importunate suitors the address of the Reykjavik City Planning Office. I believe they’ve received any number of tender missives on her behalf over the years.”

“No, no, you misunderstand,” said the (probably) man. “You haven’t met my Amalie. Sweet like cream! Melting like butter! Teeth that can chop firewood! A right hook that can fell a giant!”

“She sounds charming,” Mikkel acknowledged, “but may I suggest that there are plenty of fish in the sea. Also plenty of mutated sea-beasts, but those are the risks one takes when, ah, fishing. To extend the metaphor.”

“Do you really think she meant to--to give me the brush-off?”

“It does seem to be the most parsimonious explanation.”

“Ah, well. You’re probably right. Plenty of fish …” Over in Norway, there was a ruminative pause. “I don’t suppose you could tell me how I could get in touch with your sister.”

Mikkel weighed how annoyed he was with Maja over the Hundred-Year-Egg Incident against how much of a hell she would make his life if he actually caused a Norwegian to show up on her doorstep, and regretfully said, “No, but I can give you the address of the Reykjavik City Planning Office.”

The person on the other side of the radio didn’t even thank Mikkel or sign off. Rude. Before he could build up a proper head of resentment, the light flashed again. And before he could finish saying, “Øresund Base, Specialist Mikkel Madsen speaking,” a soft and incomprehensible voice interrupted him.

“Miten saisin Koimiehen rakastamaan minua?”

“I’m, ah, afraid that you may have reached the wrong person as well,” said Mikkel. He switched to Icelandic. “Do you by any chance speak Icelandic?”

“Näen hänet öisin metsässä. Hänen siipensä ovat niin pehmeät! Mutta hän ei koskaan pysähdy ja jää luokseni,” replied his mysterious interlocutor.

“I see,” said Mikkel.

The conversation broke up in a burst of static, sparing Mikkel further awkwardness. Or so he thought for a moment, until he heard words among the static. High and wild, they set his teeth on edge and clawed at the edges of his mind.

“HJäLp … MiG …”

Mikkel sighed heavily. This was what he got for cultivating a reputation for helpfulness!

“I would be pleased to assist you in any way I reasonably can,” he said. “But I need you to be more specific about your request.”

“It hUrTssss …. sOmeBoDy? … WhErE aM i ……”

Mikkel flicked off the radio, made a note in the log book that static was making radio communication impossible, and went to make himself a cup of coffee.

###

The next afternoon, he sat next to Michael on a ferry headed homeward.

“... and so I was fired for running an unauthorized call-in radio show,” Mikkel concluded. “As if I asked all those people to call me! What are you out for, Michael?”

“Oh,” said Michael, “Apparently you’re not supposed to broadcast the comm channels to the entire country. Even if you were the most popular radio host that Denmark has heard in years.”

**Author's Note:**

> And the translation of the Finnish:
> 
> “How can I make Mothman love me?”
> 
> “I see him in the forests at night. His wings are so soft! But he never stops and stays with me.”
> 
> It's a reference to SilenceoftheLlamas' fic "New Digs".
> 
> ETA: I never specified who the Finnish caller was, but again based on SilenceoftheLlamas' fic, the suggestion was made that it was 9-year-old Lalli. And then Kiraly [drew it!](http://worldsentwined.tumblr.com/post/159926810594/how-can-i-make-mothman-love-me-inspired-by)


End file.
